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I’m desperate to maintain my “nablopomo” writing streak. I have had all day to come up with something charming to offer the world, some gem of insight, something new, shiny, and useful. Somehow I managed not to blog until these, my foggy final waking moments of the day. I have nothing to say. I have nothing to say.

Except for this: don’t wait to do your thing until you “have time” on a busy day. It won’t happen. Having time is a myth, nobody has it. You make time by having priorities. This sounds like something you could have learned on Leave it to Beaver, but you had to read it here in the twilight of my public blog about nothing shame. I will do better tomorrow. I will not blog bleary eyed and smeary thumbed on my smart phone in a half stupor. I will make a better choice. Tomorrow is another day.

Feeling a little powerless today? I know I am. My “inalienable” rights guaranteed by the Declaration of Independence are intact, for the time being, but I feel very keenly the taking away of new hope, the possibility of innovative solutions to old problems, the pissing away of any gain or prosperity. I feel very taken advantage of and as if something intangible has been taken from me.

But let’s focus for a moment on some things no one can take away from you. William Wallace says “They can take away our lives, but they’ll never take our FREEDOM” (insert angry Scottish accent). Bono says “They took your life, but they could not take your pride…..IN THE NAME OF LOVE WHAT MORE IN THE NAME OF” oh, sorry. Whitney Houston says in her song, The Greatest Love of all that I can live as I believe and that they can’t take away my dignity. Sniff. I hate to break it to all of you, they can take your freedom, pride, and dignity, and it’s not a pretty sight. It’s fascist and it happens all over the world, and probably soon in America I fear. BUT the good news is they can’t take away your sense of humor. Unless the government made a decree of mandatory lobotomization for the population, you can never lose your sense of humor. Cultivate it. Laugh at life. Laugh at unfairness. Laugh when you feel helpless and oppressed. Laugh early. Laugh often. Laugh in the very face of despair. Laugh if for no other reason no one can force you to stop laughing. Laugh yourself into a maniacal frenzy. I think it releases magic hormones to help you endure both the pain of life and the pain in the ass life can be at times. Never stop laughing. The link above features one of my favorite funny people, Tim Hawkins. He cracks me up.

I laugh in your general direction, Government of the United States of America. You are a joke. A sick joke. Har har har har!

Waiting around for election results is the perfect time to rant about the fallen nature of America. So many hearts are bursting with patriotism, yet my heart is mourning the death of America, the idea. How many ways in 200 something years have we violated the ideal? Compromise. Comfort. Committing all real citizenry to “professional” politicians. We are not for the people or by the people anymore. It’s a game, big business, a sad and cliche spectacle: come witness the mockery. A once free flying and majestic eagle is now an annoying macaw doing parlor tricks for the crackers of special interest. Here we are now: entertain us! Give us food, give us medicine, give us a show and we will in turn give over all ethics and control, all personal responsibility, all accountability, all adherence to universal standards of right. Give us bread and circuses, and we will give away our right to judge whether government is serving the people. We are Rome. And we are crashing down.

So bye bye ms. American pie. Drove my Chevy to the levy but the levy was dry. The good old boys are drinking whiskey in leather chairs in a back room somewhere: the power elite. They don’t represent you. And they don’t give a fuck about me. They care about themselves. I suggest that we care about each other because we will soon find ourselves at the mercy of a morally bankrupt rule in a nation so evenly and bitterly divided that civil war and riotous unrest await. Intrigue and bloodshed await. Riots. Wars. Suffering. Want to know our future? Read. Roman. History.

Just noticed today that I have accumulated a whopping 200 pumpkin inspired recipes on my Pinterest board. That’s heavy duty. How many of them have I actually prepared? Probably twenty, tops. Pumpkin pancakes, pumpkin bread, pumpkin chocolate chip cookies, pumpkin chili, pumpkin pasta, pumpkin BBQ to name a few. And they were all delicious. Even now as I type, the ingredients for pumpkin snicker doodles are lined up on the counter, next on the morning’s to-do list. I’m affectionately calling them “Punker-Doodles”. Good times with squash. *chuckle*

As yet unimpressed with the fall pumpkin food fad? Why? Too mainstream? Too Charlie Brown? Too grossed out by the mushy sight and earthy aroma of canned pumpkin to join the party? I bet you 100$ that even if you think you hate pumpkin with a white hot wrath, there is a recipe on this board you would actually like. Don’t make me go airplane spoon on you. Try the pumpkin, the pretty pretty pumpkin!

And while you’re scrolling through the various and sundry flavor combinations, might I remind you that these recipes are only suggestions. Inspirations. Blueprints needing your own personal detailing. You could add pumpkin to anything. I’m not saying it always comes out tasting awesome (ask me about my pumpkin, bacon, beer dip FAIL), but it’s fun to play and discover. Jump on the pumpkin wagon with me people! I’ll scoot over and make room 🙂

Fa la la la la. La la. La. La! No!!!!!! I’m not skipping over November head long into holiday madness, though if I lived my life according to retail store displays, I would be. I don’t want to lose November, I will not surrender her to the holly jolly madness and temptation to put up the tree the day after Halloween. I’m not ready to give up pumpkin, apple, caramel, cider, and all those spicy autumnal flavorings. Get that peppermint out of my sight! I want fall, extended fall, fairest of all the seasons, and I will stand my ground and beat you upside the head with a drumstick should you attempt to persuade me otherwise!!!

The problem is, Christmas seems to have so many more awesome ways to celebrate it than Thanksgiving. There isn’t a whole lot of fanfare to be had for what is increasingly becoming an old fashioned, rustic ritual of overeating. Thanksgiving carols? Ummmm…. no cute little jingles about sweet potatoes who saved the day or pilgrims shining on high. At best we could break out the hymnal and fold our hands and sing songs of thou gratefulness….which might actually be a cool idea, but it’s very stoic and stern. Very 1694. No one is in a huge hurry to jump into that kind of activity (no one that I know anyway). Hmmmm. How can we make Thanksgiving a time of true celebration, that rivals the revelry of next month’s merriness? How can we build up anticipation of the big day? How can we draw out the crucial elements of being thankful for harvest and bounty and blessings? Our ancestors rocked this holiday. I say we take it back and make it awesome once again.

One of my favorite parts of the Christmas season is advent. I live to count down the days to the big #25. Yay hypothetical birthday of my man, Jesus. Every year we do it a bit differently and it has become a hallowed tradition in our home. Why not do this for Thanksgiving, I thought to myself. Well, it’s Nov 4th, I’ve missed the whole counting down from the beginning of the month cue. But there’s still time to salvage that and make it into “the 12 days of thanksgiving!” This year that is going to kick off on November 11, so I have an entire week yet to plan. Ha-ha! I feel the awesome juices flowing even now…..

I have 12 little boxes. I plan to stuff them with 12 little activities, meditations, treats, and tokens that will draw us together as a family when we open one each night counting down to Thanksgiving day. Maybe we’ll write our own Thanksgiving carols. “On the first day of Thanksgiving, my true love gave to me…..a tofu vegetarian turkey.” We roll demented like that in my family, make your celebration reflect who you are. Take your time, Christmas isn’t going anywhere. And may the advent of this fall holiday bring you a deeper time of togetherness, a deeper understanding of gratitude, and hopefully a deeper slice of pumpkin pie.

First time blogging on a smart phone: let’s keep it short and sweet. You love stir fry. You love soup. Now you can love them both at once. This link is a great skeleton of a recipe- use the basic proportions as a guide and then spring off your version of it like the kitchen ninjas I know you are. Mine had coconut milk, edamame, and broccoli slaw added to the mix.

So this is a blog entry about yoga. And everything in your being wants to not be reading it. But you were drawn to the charming images of Hanna-Barbera’s fedora wearing, Jersey factory worker talking, syllable adding, ranger pestering bear paying homage to his namesake. Common assumption (ie Wikipedia) would have you believe that this cartoon was named after similarly frisky famous baseball personality Yogi Berra. But I would have you believe that Yogi Bear was named after the great tradition of yoga and is in fact a great yogi rivaling the swamis of the ancient east in his ability to find zen in the stretch and meaning in the flow.

And, I’ve lost you. This is precisely why you hate yoga. People start talking about the flow, the energy, the chi, the namaste. This kind of mystic voodoo is not for you. That’s fine. We’ll take it down a notch and step away from any spiritual implications of yoga. As westerners, we can strip any tradition of its original spiritual significance and substitute our own or none at all, that is our magna carta. So putting aside all the meditational qualities, what is left? The mental focus? Yeah, that’s what coffee is for. The physical act of twisting yourself into tormented pretzel shapes? Bingo.

Yes. I realize that is a hard sell to someone who has never tried yoga. Downward dog. Warrior one. Mountain pose. It sounds like more mumbo jumbo. But at the heart of any yoga routine worth it’s Shiva is a series of gentle movements and focused breathing that brings significant advantage to your body. The simple act of learning to pay attention to breathing was revolutionary to me when I first tried yoga approximately five years ago. This was my first yoga class, and I still go to it when I need my yoga fix: http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-4628036076291757842 .Learning to breathe and stretch along to the calm voice of this online yoga instructor did a lot for me after the birth of my fourth child. Before yoga, I could not touch my toes. My flexibility has increased by 1000 percent. The stretching out of my awkward limbs I feel has helped me maintain lean muscle, fight back pain, stave off anxiety, and gain strength. Not to mention inner peace. Yoga is supposed to be good for lowering blood pressure, general heart health, asthma, and even schizophrenia, if that’s what ails you. And did I mention there are fun and wonderful accessories and outfits to go along with your yoga-ing? Yoga mats with swirly lotus designs, music oozing other worldly serenity, and yoga pants. If for no other reason, try yoga for the pants. They are the comfiest article of clothing on the planet.

Of course there is also the coolness factor. Yoga doesn’t have to be just for yuppies or acorn worshipers or male models with Scandinavian accents or women in Nike ads with zero percent body fat. Yoga can be for housewives, blue-collar folks, children, red-blooded Americans: Anyone who is wanting to maintain their physical self no matter what their fitness level, can do yoga. Should do yoga. I mean, for God’s sake, at least try it. There are points to be scored somewhere for the mere attempting of a yoga session. And you never know, it might be just your thing. You might like it so much, you need your own yogi name.